


Radioactive | Battle Cry

by walkthroughhale



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkthroughhale/pseuds/walkthroughhale
Summary: I've combined two works written for a group RP I am in. Please note that he went by Alaric until two years ago when he changes his name to Zave Jones.





	Radioactive | Battle Cry

> **I’m waking up to ash and dust  
>  I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust  
> I’m breathing in, the chemicals**

it had been a long day, if days bled into night and time no longer truly existed that was. Cases were pilling and crime was at an all time high, which is what gave Ric the fuel to move. Staying on your toes in the French Quarter was the only way to prevent it from consuming you whole. It kept you so focused on the task at home that past demons had no real space to haunt you…Which was fucking perfect in the detective’s opinion. He focused on the same two things every single day; survive, and exact revenge.

It had been two years since the brutal murder of his partner. She had died in his arms and he could still recall, to this day, every single moment of it. Whenever he shut his eyes, the lifeless expression on her cold and still body was the thing that haunted his dreams. He’d spent his days since then searching for the killer, for answers he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to hear. One thing was for sure, Damon was in the Quarter and so was he…

Ric filled his days with solving crimes and finding lost relics. Utilizing the hub of supernatural power that filtered through the Quarter to hone his own, to strengthen himself until the day came where he could face the killer. That blood sucking vamp who infiltrated their op and took her away from him.  The irony wasn’t lost on the man, that he now spent most of his time searching for the lost relics of his family. A heritage he had turned his back on for so long out of anger, was now the thing helping to keep the psychic afloat. Unlike Dixon, Ric had to work hard for his abilities. Having manifested late in the proverbial game. Which brought him to this moment right now…   


> **I’m waking up, I feel it in my bones  
>  Enough to make my system blow  
> Welcome to the new age **   
> 

Turned out, Ric was damn good at finding those relics. The dark energy of the quarter flowing through his veins, giving him a renewed sense of purpose as he followed item by useless item until he eventually picked up a trail of energy that led him to whatever relic he was searching for at the time…Today’s piece of show and tell just so happened to lead the psychic to a dark, dingy corner of the French Quarter. One of those piece of shit bar’s with a name you’d forget before you’ve even stepped through the door. The scene inside was no better, about as rough as the edges of his own seams.

Funny, it almost felt like home as he strolled casually to the corner, towards a man perched on a bar stool half his size. “Duncan.” He said in a low tone as he slid into the empty space beside the man. Pawn’s in the game were the bane of Ric’s existence, but they were necessary if he truly wanted the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “ _Who’s asking_?” The tone was gruff as the words shot back to him. “Doesn’t matter who I am.” Ric lifted two fingers to the bartender signalling for a beer, he barely looked towards the man’s direction, feigning boredom as he rested back on the stool. “What matters is how helpful you’re going to be.” He added as the the drink was slid towards him. “I need a one-on-one with your boss and you’re going to arrange it for me.”  He could practically feel the annoyance ebbing of the prick sitting next to him. It didn’t matter though, if this guy couldn’t lead him to the ringleader, there’d be some other idiot out there who would. “ _What makes you think I’d give you shit?”_ Duncan demanded, his tone no less pleasant. “Well you if you don’t do that, it will be you and me in the parking lot out back working things out. Are you cool with that?“ The question was rhetorical but it didn’t stop Ric from flexing his hand into a fist before taking a mouthful of his beer and tossing a card at the moron before standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. “Just think about it…”

 

* * *

 

 

> **Just one more time before I go I'll let you know  
>  That all this time I've been afraid  
> Wouldn't let it show. Nobody can save me now **   
> 

_Redemption_. The action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil. It was all anyone ever wanted in life, it was the cog that turned the wheels of life. Such a coveted foe, this idea of penance, of forgiveness. What was the point? When there was blood on your hands and black in your soul. When the very root of your existence was tarnished, when your destiny was predisposed to doing wrong by others and there was no escaping the plans that fate had laid out for you.  Do you run  _from_  it? Or do you face the man you are and run  _with_ it.   

Zave Jones was just that man. His life was decided upon birth. The magic that flowed through his veins solidified his very existence, rooted in the heart of the Arcane Society, thrust into a world of demons and creatures of the night that instilled hatred and fear into the nonbelievers. He had tried to run from this life, escape the world from which he was raised in a desperate attempt to start anew. Fate had different plans for him, however. As it always did. 

New Orleans was a fresh start from the person he used to be. Zave knew he needed to escape the fear that shackled him, shed the man he was and become something entirely different if he was to take on the mantle that chased him unremittingly..   

> **Stars are only visible in darkness  
>  Fear is ever-changing and evolving  
> And I have been poisoned inside **   
> 

_Revenge_. The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands. It was the fundamental desire that kept Alaric moving. It was the catalyst for his change, to push the psychic towards accepting his destiny with both hands in his own terms. It was the desire that drove him to his need for strength and power for without those he could never hope to avenge the loss of his partner, of his love.  ~~Not that they ever should have made it that far~~.

The truth was, nothing else mattered now. He was unclean, in the eyes of God. A man who had committed crimes not just in the nature of good or evil but in times because he had  _wanted_ too. He had tortured people, murdered creatures, stolen the lives of those around him and reveled in the stains their blood left behind. All in his attempt to shed the skin that encapsulated him, to become a man who was worthy of leading the society founded by a bloodline that had existed long before he was a twinkle in his mothers eye...

> **Nobody can save me now  
>  The king is crowned  
> It's do or die  **

_Sin._   An immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law. Alaric hid behind his badge, behind this misconception that he was doing good; the connotation lingered in the air as he hit the ground running. Flying over fallen logs and enlarged boulders as he dodged between trees, driven by a thirst to conquer. Gun in check, arms raised at chest height as he moved swiftly from target to target. Evasive maneuvers in play when a civilian target shot out at him with abrupt direction changes at the sight of hostile ones. 

Alaric had run this obstacle course more times than he could count and each time the obstacles were different. Designed to keep him on his toes, his senses on high alert as he fired off round after round at every bulls-eye that came into his line of sight. Never needing more than a single shot to succeed in his mission. Every now and then the psychic would take a deep breath, following the energy of hidden artifacts as he moved, training the simultaneous use of his human senses along with his abilities. The moon was high over head and the forest around him was eerily still. It was a comfort that hugged him as he moved, taking solace in the darkness that surrounded him as his mind zeroed in on the mission at hand. Laying out the pawns and moving pieces into play was part of the overall game, but manipulating a situation wasn’t enough. One had to be at his peak in order to survive;  _and survival was everything.._

 

 


End file.
